


A Love Like Hellfire

by BaconnEggs



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Demisexuality, Demonic Possession, Demons, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Crack, Long-Distance Relationship, Other, Ouija, Paranormal, Self-Insert, Supernatural Elements, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaconnEggs/pseuds/BaconnEggs
Summary: You are a writer suffering from the worst case of writer's block. Will demonic intervention somehow help? Or hell, will it lead to something more?(AKA someone made a joke about using an ouija board to finish their fic and I got stupidly inspired)
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Character(s)/Reader, demon - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

You smack your palms onto your keyboard, watching with a furrowed brow as the jumble of letters and symbols fills the screen. It’s more words than you’ve been writing anyway,  _ ‘progress is progress _ ’, you think to yourself, half-joking.

Looking away from the brightness of your monitor, you check the time to see that it’s way past midnight, and you wonder out loud what the  _ hell _ you were doing for 3 hours, considering that none of that, as you recall, was spent writing.

Flumping onto your bed, a hard corner digs into your side. “Ouch!” you say, letting out a litany of curse words accompanying it. Pulling it out, you see that it's a wrapped  _ something. _

‘ _ Oh right. It was my birthday. _ ’

Your close friend, Caroline, had given it to you with a wink. She always had a weird vibe to her, but the two of you have been through thick and thin, coming out inseparable.

Slowly you unwrap the thin wrapping paper, revealing…

_ A spirit board? _

You knew what these things were, saw that movie, played it with your friend after-school with the curtains drawn and candles lit. It never held much  _ reality _ or  _ power _ in your eyes.

But now those eyes were lacking some 18 hours of sleep, and in your sleepless state, you think ‘ _ hey, maybe the demons aren’t  _ **_so_ ** _ bad, right? _ ’

Laying down the lacquered planchette on the wooden board, you hope the dim light of your laptop will suffice as a replacement for candles. In a last hail-mary, you ask aloud if there are any demons who would help with your writing. You stifle a mad laugh,  _ ‘what am I even doing?’  _ you lament to yourself.

\-------------------------------

Deep,  _ deep  _ down, where fires burn eternal and the smell of brimstone and ash floats through the still air, a small, unassuming landline rings. It rings and rings, echoing into the darkness, when a gaggle of barrel-chested demons come stomping in, clad in  _ business attire _ , their scarlet eyes burn red and horns tall and pointy. With a burly, clawed hand one of them picks up the phone as his companions crowd around trying to listen.

“Are there any spirits who will help me write?” a voice asks.

“What the-” A demon asks. His name tag reads ‘Balroth’, “That’s not what they usually ask.”

“Hmm...” the one holding the phone ponders. His name tag reads ‘Tul’gon’ (The Most Popular Demon Baby Name of 400 AD!), “Do we indulge this human’s...odd request?”

“I don’t see why not,” Another says. His name tag reads ‘Kenneth’. “We’ve got time to kill, being stuck here for eternity.”

“Fair point,” Balroth says. He presses a button flashing red on the phone, and suddenly a small tear appears into existence, looking down into a darkened room illuminated by a dim light. The demons jump through, their incorporeal forms wafting in and around the hunched human figure. They float towards the light, the blinking of a computer cursor staring back into their invisible eyes. 

\-------------

As you look around your messy study, hoping for something to happen in a deranged stupor, it might be your eyes  _ finally  _ shutting down, but you see the scroll bar on your monitor inch it’s way to the top of the document. Slowly, it inches down, and up, and down again, as if multiple  _ people _ were reading through the same document together. 

After a while, a sudden ‘skrrt!’, you swivel your head back to the spirit board, where the planchette is inching itself across the painted letters. Rubbing the sand out of your eyes, you watch with your mouth agape as it spells out;

R…O…M…A…N...C...E…?

\-----------

“Oh, the human is nodding,” Tul’gon says as he re-materializes into Hell, “Don’t we know a guy who’s into that?”

“Yeah we do,” Balroth replies. He turns towards a section of the void. “OI BORIS!” he bellows, his roar bouncing off the volcanic walls, “WE GOT SOMETHING FOR YOU!”

Silence. And then, a dull thud. And another. Rhythmic pounding shakes the cavernous walls until a hulking, barrel-chested demon materializes out of the void. He looks around, confused, and spots Balroth and the rest surrounding the phone and portal. 

“Uh...what’s up guys?” he asks, his voice booming and rolling like thunder.

“Hey, you like romantic stuff right?” Tul’gon asks, gesturing to the portal, “We got a human down here who is in need of assistance.”

“I uh...” Boris trails off. He’s never been one to share his personal interests, much less expect them to be brought up in the  _ workplace _ . He decides that he probably doesn’t want to disappoint his co-workers, though. “Okay...”

Crouching down to fit into the tear, he phases to the laptop, scanning through the written words. He is suddenly transported into a world of intrigue, love, and emotional depth, something he’s never experienced in the millenia he’s been  _ down there.  _ Scrolling to the bottom of the page, his clawed hands shake as he imagines how the chapter would end, how these characters would meet and interact and form something truly  _ beautiful. _

\------------------------------------

A few minutes pass by until the planchette moves again. You look over and see it rapidly going across the letters of the board. “Wait hold on!” you say into the darkness, “Slow down!” you say, rushing to grab a notepad and pen. When you return, you find the planchette staying still on the board, wavering slightly as if someone were holding onto it, watching, waiting.

You settle next to the spirit board, notepad in hand. “Alright,” you say, “I’m ready.” You almost laugh to yourself, thinking that all of those all-nighters you pulled and redbulls you drank have finally pushed you off the deep end. 

Slowing, the planchette moves to a letter, and incredulous, you write it down.

It moves again after a few seconds to the next, as if it were waiting for you to finish writing. Again, you write down the letter.

This cycle of moving and writing continues until you fall into a steady rhythm, writing the letters as they form words, form  _ ideas,  _ that you  _ definitely _ didn’t think of.

By the time the planchette stops moving, the morning calls of birds sing through your window, and in your hand is a notebook with a conclusion and several other ideas that you could use (“F O R Y O U” the board read when you asked why it was giving you more than a conclusion to this chapter.)

Suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion dump on you like a ton of bricks, you are quick to move the planchette to “GOODBYE” before falling into your covers. After all, you need to make sure nothing  _ stays  _ with you, right?

\-------------------------

The portal winks into nothingness as Boris steps back into the fiery pits of hell. He’s never interacted with a spirit board that much, never interacted with a  _ human _ that much either, and his breath is shaky. 

Watching this human write, the way they ask why or talk to the board as if it were a person, strikes a chord within Boris’ psyche (he’s not sure if he has a heart. Or if demons do, for that matter.) 

But as quickly as the fluttering started, it was stomped down as reality made its way into Boris’ head.

_ ‘It’s just a human, a mere mortal.’ _

_ ‘This was probably a one-time thing anyway.’ _

**‘** **_I want to see them again._ ** **’**

That last thought catches  him completely by surprise, but it stic ks with him as he walks  back into the churning darkness, his head in the proverbial clouds.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oogh, ow…”

You wake up after a few hours, your joints cracking as you stretch out from your slumber. Moving to sweep your legs onto the floor, you hit something and a dull ache blooms from your shin.

Cursing under your breath, you pull out the spirit board from your sheets, and suddenly the night’s events come rushing back to you like a flood.

_ The board. The  _ **_words._ **

You rummage through the folds of your sheets and pull out the notebook to see the words  _ still there,  _ messy and crowded, sure, but there nonetheless. You rush to your sleeping monitor and wake it up, once again facing the blinking cursor of the document. 

Looking at the notepad on the desk, you slowly type out each word, reading through them as you do so. As you do so, you start to notice little quirks in the way the entity formed sentences, feeling the  _ heart _ in its words as it concludes the chapter with a flourish. Taking a step back to scroll through the new addition, you are shocked at how much it  _ fits _ , how it complements what was there before and how it sets up what’s next in a way that even excites  _ you. _

Flipping through the notebook again, you look past where the ending stops to read all of the different ideas the board gave you, and you visualize each of them in your head. Some of them happy, others melancholic, but all  _ fitting _ somehow, flowing the plot and the characters in such ways that you have to sit back in your swivel chair in awe. 

‘ _ Did something really write this for me? _ ’ you ask yourself,  _ ‘Or was it just my brain short-circuiting?’ _

Before you can find a definitive answer, your phone buzzes with a text message. It’s from Caroline, inviting you for a sit-down at the nearest café. You quickly type out a confirmation before saving the document and storing the notebook into your drawer. As you get up to get ready, your mind can’t help but wander as you think of a million ways to rationalize ‘ _ whatever happened last night.’ _

_ \--------------- _

The loud chatter hurts your ears as you step into the café, looking for your friend. Ordering a latte (“with  **double** espresso shots”) you walk around until you spot Caroline waving you over excitedly, her silver bracelets shining as they move back and forth. Sitting down, she takes one look at you before asking, “Ooh, rough night?”

“All that and more,” you reply, feeling the weight of your eyebags as you sip your coffee, “I, uh, have a question, actually.”

“Oh?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea, “pray tell?”

“Remember you gave me a spirit board for my birthday last week?”

“Oh! yes?”

“Is there any chance,” you begin, trying hard to form your question to not sound like a  _ complete _ lunatic, “that that spirit board you gave me, actually works?”

She furrowed her eyebrows in thought, steam wafting from her cup. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” she begins, “but as far as I’m aware, I’ve never experienced it.”

“Well, I  _ did, _ ” you say, “last night.” 

She looks at you for a few seconds, wide-eyed before she explodes, nearly spilling her tea over the table. The other patrons of the café eye you and Caroline with a stare as you attempt to bring her back to Earth.

Calming down, there’s a glint in her eye that sparkles with curiosity. “Tell me  _ everything! _ ” she says, no,  _ demands. _

Slowly, you begin to tell her how you came to the idea in the first place, how you, in your sleep-deprived state, consulted the spirit board on a whim and how it  _ answered  _ you, describing the scrolling of your document, the feeling of the air being heavier than usual. When you reach the part where it writes for you, you can’t help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of having real, tangible proof, that something so  _ extraordinary _ has happened to you, of all people.

When you’re finished, Caroline is starry-eyed, her tea left ignored on the table. ”Oh wow,” she says “, wow, uh, that’s  _ amazing.  _ A question, though.”

“Shoot,” you say, “Although I doubt I’ll be able to answer it.”

“So like, I’ve read testimonies from people who’ve claimed to have had a successful contact with a spirit board,” she begins, “but every single one said that either the entity said something evil, or  _ did _ something evil to the person. This encounter is, uh,  _ none of that. _ ” 

“So like,” she asks, “What did you do that was so  _ different? _ ”

“I don’t know really,” you reply, unsure of that yourself, “I mean, I may have used my laptop as a light source instead of candles, but that should have angered the demons  _ more, _ right?”

“Excuse me, you used  _ what? _ ”

“That’s besides the point!” you interject, “Anyways, that’s what happened.”

“The real question is,” she says, leaning forward, “ _ will you do it again? _ ”

That question stuck with you, stewed in the back of your mind until you found yourself in a scented candle store, the sickly sweet blend of cinnamon, apple and pine wafting into your nose and snapping you back to reality.

Whether it was curiosity, sheer stupidity, or the combination of the two, you didn’t know. But as you walked forward to the store clerk, a clear answer formed in your mind.

‘ _ I will do it again. _ ’

\------------------------

_ Tick...tock...tick...tock… _

The monotonous sound of a clock reverberated off of the ceiling as Boris sat in his cramped cubicle, trying to make himself look invisible, which is kind of hard to do when you’re nine feet tall and your horns stick out like sore, pointy, thumbs. He can’t stop thinking about that  _ human, _ as much as he would like to, and a small flutter in him hopes that he could meet them again,  _ write _ with them again…

“Nope, nope, nope,” Boris says to himself, moving from his chair to walk into a quieter area of Hell. The screams of the damned really don’t help with concentration, he finds.

He finds himself wandering around the nooks and crannies of darkness until his cloven feet lead him back to where it all started, the telephone.  _ ‘Ah, so much for forgetting.’  _ he thinks to himself.

He’s never felt whatever he’s feeling right now, not in the hundreds upon hundreds of years he’s been down here. Somehow, that  _ human’s  _ writing sparked something within him that had stayed dormant for as long as he could remember, and for some crazy reason, he  _ really  _ doesn’t want this spark to be extinguished.

Just as he began to settle into his thoughts, a ‘BRRIIINGG!!!’ cuts through his reverie. Looking around to see the landline ringing, a flutter of hope fills him, and with an apprehensive hand, he picks up the phone.

\---------------------------

Lighting the candle, the smell of pinewood and smoke fills your nose as you lay out the spirit board again, with your laptop open once more. Once again, you call out into the darkness of your study, asking if there are any spirits present with you.

And then you wait, and wait some more. Before the sinking sense of stupidity can rear its ugly head, the sound of ivory against wood grabs your attention like a moth to the flame.

Feeling relief, maybe excitement too, you pull out the notebook from last night. “Uh, if it’s the same, uh,  _ entity, _ from last night,” you began, stammering for some reason, “I’d like to say that you write really well, and you really helped me out. Thanks.”

Stillness fills the air as you await a response. Then, the planchette moves.

“T...H...A...N...K...Y...O...U.”

You can’t help but laugh.  _ ‘Why is a demon thanking me? _ ’ you think. Recollecting yourself, you see the planchette moving again.

“C...A...N...D...L...E…?”

“Oh, I uh,” you reply, “wanted to make it more,  _ official?  _ I dunno.”

“Anyway, so uh,” you gesture to your laptop, “I get the feeling that writing down your ideas with the ouija board is pretty slow, so here, you can use my laptop, it should be easier, and I don’t have to write as much.” You let out a sheepish laugh, “I took one of your ideas and started something, but I’d like to see you complet-woah!”

You are stopped in your tracks when your hands start moving on their own. Lifting into the air slowly, they clumsily flop onto the keyboard, a jumble of letters filling the screen. Realigning themselves, they start typing.

**Is this working?**

“Yeah,” you reply, staring wide-eyed at your own hands moving of their own accord. “Do you have to use my hands though?”

They waver in the air for a moment before they resume typing.

**Can't move the keyboard on its own. Must have medium.**

**‘** _ That kinda makes sense, _ **’** you think to yourself. “Okay, so if you want to continue typing, have at it.”

Your hands hover again, as if thinking, contemplating, before the first few words appear onto the document. Slowly but surely, they gain in tempo, and soon your fingers are going faster than you’ve ever seen them go, feeling as light as a feather.

By the time the candle’s wick has gone out, the chapter is fully completed, and you can’t help but stare in amazement as your hands slowly return to an idle position.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster, “this is  _ amazing. _ ”

Suddenly, two things happen at once.

First, you regain control of your hands, feeling them to see that they now move on your accord.

Second, a wave of tiredness rolls over you like a tsunami. Your arms fall, tired to the bone, as you stagger in your posture.

“I think possession might be a bit much for me.” you say. You  _ pray _ the demon isn’t offended by your complaint.

Silence follows, and then the familiar scratch of the spirit board catches your attention. The planchette is moving.

“S...O...R...R...Y.”

“No, don’t apologize!” you say, finding it absolutely  _ inconceivable _ that a demon would be  _ apologizing _ , “I’ll find a better way to communicate soon.”

“Well, that is,” you say, struggling to keep awake, “if you want to keep communicating?”

You watch as the planchette moves, all the way into the corner.

“YES.”

You smile to yourself, feeling for the nth time today the thrill of excitement and amazement at the fact that you’re talking and corresponding with a  _ demon,  _ of all entities.

“Alright, I’m gonna go now. Thanks for writing again, I really enjoy reading through it.”

Before you move the planchette to end the encounter, it moves once more.

“G...O...O...D...N...I...G...H...T.”


End file.
